Wood smoke and lavender. The olfactory calling card of her late wife.
Valerie sat on the concrete stage and covered her eyes with the heels of her hands. She had to concentrate.
Ilona’s spirit lived on in someone. And whoever that was had John. Valerie pinched the bridge of her nose.
When in doubt, strategize. Valerie tipped her head to the overcast sky and laid out her thoughts. A spring snow was on its way. She closed her jacket over her stomach.
Fact: John Janté’s scent led to Mittlebau (why here?), but disappears.
Supposition: John has been taken to a pocket dimension location.
Radu: no sign of him. Could be behind this, but the act was too impulsive, not planned at all.
This kidnapping stunk of desperation. Her brother was a master planner. If he was going to react fast to something, it wouldn’t be this sloppy.
Ilona reborn: how? Who? What does she have to do with John? Other than liking dark-haired men, this was not her wife’s style.
Valerie hoisted herself off the stage and paced the length of the muster grounds.
She couldn’t do this alone. There were too many options, not enough data. Not even a whatever-she-was could retrieve John if he were not on Earth. After all, there were too many to kill all by herself.
She’d need …
No. No, no, no. No way in hell could she do that. She wasn’t about to risk her new life by finding Lance Soleil and asking him for help. He’d ruined her once. She was not about to let him ruin her again.
The seductive perfume of cloves and freshly baked bread caressed the memorial ground and rendered moot the need to find Lance. Valerie rested the heel of her hand on the butt of her pistol. He held no power over her emotions anymore, she reminded herself. John’s rescue first.
Her fingers tapped the pistol like an angry gunslinger at 11:59 A.M. She was ready for anything.
Except her body’s response.
As he approached her from the back, the warmth of his aura relaxed her muscles. Her shoulders lowered. Despite her fatigue from driving for seven hours straight, her hamstrings loosened and her clit strained against her stained jeans. Her already-sensitive breasts firmed and swelled inside her T-shirt. Her vagina clenched, eager for his life-changing lovemaking even before she saw him. Finally, her fangs emerged. His blood had transformed her, thrown her into pain and confusion, but how she wanted a taste of that crazy-making divine blood.
A woman could think with more than her clitoris, though. This reaction was nothing more than classic stimulus response. Give her a whiff of that sweet-hot spice and she was ready to fuck him to Heaven here in the midst of this memorial to pain.
No matter how hot that would be, though, sex with him would not make her happy. It would only remind her of what she had lost.
Safe again, she looked at him for the first time since his ascension.
Her sensitive eyes squinted against his blazing aura, now pure silver and gold. No more humanizing black spots of guilt lay scattered against his purity.
She blinked away bloody tears at the blistering light and continued her appraisal. Enormous, glorious wings, of course. His arctic blue eyes retained their soul-searching gaze. Only his gaze was warmer, more compassionate.
No more was he her warrior. Instead, he had transcended to something she could never touch.
The putrid taste of loss filled Valerie’s throat. Tears prickled behind her nose.
Lucifer’s balls. The bastard still looked like hot sex on a stick, too.
Resisting was not going to be easy.
Fuck it. She was Vlad Dracula, the scourge of the Turks, the embodiment of sex and evil. The Impaler did not beg.
For John, she’d be polite to that damned angel. She’d be calm and controlled. Together, they would recover John. Only after her new lover was free would she see if angels could bleed.
CHAPTER 16
The faint green grass of spring greeted Lance when he arrived on Earth. Every living being in the area, from the smallest microbe to the unconscious minds of the humans, responded with joy at his arrival.
Heartened by his welcome, the new angel reconnoitered. He had landed in a memorial. Green lawn spilled in front of concrete buildings. Stairs and old brick scattered the grounds. The parking lot was full of cars.
As he passed the crowds of people, a desperate mother found her crying child’s lost pacifier. A teenaged girl found the courage to cry at the images in front of her. A lost baby rabbit hopped its way home. A far cry from the futility and effort of his time as a Fallen.
Underneath the ecstatic scents of trees and grass lay the reprehensible stench of years-old corruption. Much had been lost here. Not even his powers could reclaim it.
Lance knew this place had been an abattoir before he saw the entrance sign. Why was he brought to this concentration camp?
Hope still lived here, though. The life-affirming scents of rosemary and apples floated, light and insubstantial, over the remembered pain.
John and Valerie. How he wanted to embrace them, whisper words of ardor and longing into their souls. He might be an angel, but he would, forever and always, want them with him.
Lance searched for his earthly beloveds. Finally, he reached a concrete stage in front of a curved wall. An eternal flame burned in a bowl nearby.
A single figure stood there, hands clasped behind her back. Finally, here was his adored Valerie. She still had her straight black hair and upright spine. Her once-black aura now swam with glittering white and green streamers.
Hope and life stirred within her. Red speckles danced around her shoulder blades, sparking the gold-embroidered dragon. And some anger, too. He wondered what had happened to change her.
The breeze stirred his extended wings. The cool air stimulated the sensitive organs until arousal gobbled him whole. He floated closer until the evergreen scent of rosemary petted his skin.
“Valerie,” he murmured against her neck.
Like the well-disciplined warrior she was, she did not flinch. Instead, she merely rotated on her heel until they were nose to nose; their lips mere millimeters from each other.
Tenderly, he brushed away the hair that had gotten caught in the corner of her mouth. “I have missed you so much,” he said as he leaned in to close the fraction of distance between them.
She leaned back, her luminous hazel eyes empty and distant. “Where have you been?” she asked coolly. “Finally remembered us?”
Her disdain cut him into splinters. Merciful love, his body hurt from remembering everything. Her rage, her body, her fierce commitment to her ideals. What had happened that she no longer smiled when she saw him?
He dropped his fists to his belt where the magnifying glass hung in its cushioned pouch. The hard circle of the lens under the cloth calmed him. Lance would learn the secrets of her heart again. First, he had to find John.
“I came as soon as I could,” he answered. “Where is John? I have much to tell you both.”
“I have much to tell you, too.” Her voice sounded choked.
At his questioning look, Valerie pulled the wings of her coat away from her body.
His gaze dropped to the familiar lines of her long, lean body.
But she was no longer long and lean. Her belly pooched forward. A happy green light pulsed under her navel.
“Hi, Dad!” it shouted in his inner ear.
“Dad?” he blurted.
CHAPTER 17
“Cannonball!”
Yet another Fallen Angel launched itself into the Singel Canal, its vestigial wings flapping. A giant splash of holy water landed on the Amsterdam street, drenching the remaining defectors from Hell. They all giggled wildly as they crumbled.
Protecting himself from the deadly spray, Anthony huddled under the awning of an outdoor café. He’d insisted on a regular café, one that did not serve the extra goodies. Even with vampire healing, he ached from what he’d ingested from Glenath. A pint of blood and beer in his stomach
went a long way toward regaining his well-being.
Glenath had outdone herself with her idea to bless the entire ring of the outer canal of the Red Light district. All the refugees needed to do was hop in and they’d be dead.
And boy, they were hopping like bunnies. This was the weirdest mass suicide he’d ever seen.
“‘Three meters mud, three meters water, and three meters bicycles,’” Glenath quoted the tour guide’s statistics about the composition of the Amsterdam channels. She took a hit off her hookah pipe, the apple tobacco clean and refreshing to Anthony after the psychedelic trip. “And now this one is three meters of ash, as well,” she said.
Anthony scratched his exposed neck. Just being around this much holy water made him itch. “Where did this come from, babe?” he asked. “Why all these Fallen? And how are they so easy to kill now?” He raised his hand for a second mug of beer.
“I don’t know. If they had escaped through the ‘exit,’ they would be reborn on the Wheel.”
One of the Fallen who bore a striking resemblance to a potted plant delayed its jump. “It’s the baby,” it said. “She’s changing all the rules.” It ran on little stubby roots, leaped into the air, and called, “Geronimo!”
“Valerie’s going to have a daughter.” Glenath exhaled, the smoke ringing around her head like a dragon.
Love, warm and simple, made him lean forward and kiss her smoky, sweet lips with all the trust in his heart.
Dazed and trembling, she opened her starlike eyes. “Not a complaint, but what’s that about?”
“Just remembering the day we met,” he murmured as he nuzzled her soft neck. “It was a dream come true.”
His wife smiled and rubbed the scars on her chest. “Only a vampire would see that day as romantic.”
Another wave hit the brick and concrete street, slicking the bicycle lanes with sludgy ash. The riders cursed as their work clothes were slimed. Others shouted as they fell, tangling limbs and wheels in dangerous configurations.
“No!” Glenath dropped her hookah mouthpiece and dashed to help the victims. Anthony was already there, lifting, straightening, checking for injuries.
“Bishop Tempesta? Mr. O’Neill?” The beautiful Dutch accent did not hide the disappointment in the voice.
Anthony and Glenath turned around, their coats and pants completely ruined from their rescue efforts, only to meet the exasperated gazes of two mounted Amsterdam police. The horses snorted as though agreeing with their riders.
“We in Amsterdam have been honored with your visit, but please come with us,” the taller female officer stated. “You’ve caused quite enough trouble.”
As the two lovers were led to separate police cars, Anthony called to Glenath, “Not as much fun as the day we met.”
“I nearly died, you maniac,” she laughed as they were whisked away to the nearest police station.
CHAPTER 18
“How else do you think a vampire could conceive?” Valerie answered. “Only you could have done this.”
“You mean it’s mine?” Eyes wide, he stepped away as if she were filled to the brim with poisonous mercury, as if acknowledging his paternity would despoil his unearthly purity.
Fabulous. Her lover reacted as though she carried toxic waste. So much for the sensual, accepting man who had opened her heart to love.
Screw him. She would find John by herself. Valerie had no clue how, but she would do it without an insulting angel hanging around.
She revolved away, her black coat flipping like a matador’s cape behind her. “Angel of the Lost? You’ve found me. Go away.”
Long, fast strides took her through the pain-soaked grounds, past the humans and the concrete gate, back to the Mustang. The sun had gone down and the air chilled. Spring still hadn’t completely thawed the nighttime.
She unlocked the driver’s side door, slipped into the seat, and leaned her head back against the rest.
Lance materialized in human form in the passenger seat. The angel buckled his seat belt and faced her. “What happened, Valerie? Tell me everything.”
Damn. His scent filled her car, impregnated her clothing and hair. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel.
“He was kidnapped by Fallen Angels. They brought him here and disappeared.” Valerie adjusted her rearview mirror, wishing that cursed blue sedan would reappear. “They hurt him. He’s probably dead.”
“He’s not.”
“Good. Because that’s not the least of it.” Twisting as best she could, Valerie reached into the backseat for her thermos. She drank blood and brandy right from the lip.
“You shouldn’t drink,” Lance scolded as though he were her father. His eyes were too bright, too blue for her to gaze upon comfortably. Despite his early disgust, the crotch of his pants revealed he still wanted her.
“None of your business, Dad”, the baby answered. Valerie saw Lance lift an eyebrow at the sarcasm. “None of us are bound by human physiology here.”
She petted her stomach. “Good job, kid.”
“You too, Mom.”
“Well, now that I’ve been well and truly schooled, how did the Fallen disappear? They cannot create pocket dimensions. We would both know if he were still on Earth.” Lance kept his gaze on hers even as he reached for her thermos.
“A thrice-bitten human.” Valerie took another drink and closed her eyes, shutting him out. “It is considered an abomination amongst my kind to leave someone in that state. Yes, a sin it is, for it drives the human mad. Powerful mad.” Valerie’s language took on the rhythms of ancient storytellers. She wasn’t drunk, but she wished she could be. Ilona’s soul left in that shell? The thought broke Valerie’s heart.
“Mad,” Lance murmured. “How mad?”
“A human caught in the in-between, without the oblivion of our tears, sweat, and blood? Dangerous.” She set down the brandy. “What they imagine can come true. In a twisted way. She dreams worlds into being. Radu left her like this. Alone. Insane. His neglect of all these years will kill John. Her dreams will topple, and those murderers will be let loose on the world.”
“She has to be stopped,” Lance stated. “The Fallen are behaving erratically, arranging situations to get themselves killed.”
Valerie’s eyebrows lifted toward her hairline. That explained a lot. “Why do something so complicated, though?”
“I think there is more than one mind in this scheme. We need to stop both of them.”
Valerie bent her head toward the angel. Their gazes met; hers cautious and shuttered, his luminous and unknowable.
Right back where this whole thing started. Looking at each other, each with secrets the other could not comprehend.
For John. For him, and only him, she would take one more ride on the emotional merry-go-round named Lance Soleil.
CHAPTER 19
Miraculum. In Latin, it meant to wonder at. Lance’s essence wondered at the miracles sitting next to him in the Shelby.
Valerie was here, with him, alive, healthy, and with child. An angel child, at that! He was going to be a father. How could such things be possible? Lance wanted to touch her, to feel the thick fall of her hair on his hands, to lift her into the air and proclaim his joy.
With less than a breath, he sent the knowledge of the new life to the Host. He heard the cheer shake the foundations of the universe.
Valerie frowned. “What was that?”
“Never mind,” he answered. “How are you feeling? Have you named the baby yet? Are you hungry? Can I get you anything?”
His woman turned her frown at him. “The only thing I need from you is help finding John.” She lifted an eyebrow at him. “Think you can do that?”
Inwardly, Lance laughed. His vampire was angry at him, but she was here. Together, they would find John. Then Lance would take his little family and put them somewhere safe, where no trouble would ever touch them.
“I most certainly can. Do you have something of his I can use as a focus?”
His swo
rd and glass would cut through the Fallen Angel’s illusion and deceit, allowing them to find John. If his Guide had been in this reality, Valerie would have found him on her own. He didn’t know what the Fallen wanted with John, but Lance and Valerie would stop them before their dear one could be harmed.
Valerie shook her head. “I’ve got his blood.” She ripped a blood-stiff section of her shirt and handed him the irregular square of fabric. Her belly button peeked out from behind her shredded clothes. The tender swell of her abdomen made Lance weak in the wings. He reached out his hand to touch.
Lance stilled. He couldn’t do that. What if he changed her again in some way and she lost the baby? Better to restrain his urges.
Suppressing his disappointment, he opened his car door. “I have to go outside. You wait here.” Lance exited the warm safety of Ilona to begin his dangerous search.
The driver’s door slammed behind him. “Are you completely insane?” she asked.
“But the baby …” he said.
Valerie cast her eyes heavenward as though begging for patience. “Is not your average kid.”
“Yeah, Dad. I got skills, yo.”
Lance ruffled his feathers. Was the world ready for these two jokers?
Instead of digging himself in deeper, he drew his obsidian sword.
Valerie whistled a low sliding scale in admiration. “Nice work on that.” With the mindless grace of a born fighter, she reached for the grip.
Not just no, but no way no. Lance caught her wrist before she could touch. “This is the remover of delusion. Are you ready to be cut free of the stories you tell yourself?”
Valerie froze, her hand extended. A puff of sulfur and rotten apples soured the fresh smell of their rosemary and cloves.
“John is in danger. Do what you must.” With that, she showed him her back.
Lance ran his fingers over the blood-stiff section of cloth. There was no more time to waste. Lance contemplated John, his best friend, and the most courageous person in the world. The way John moved, the way he thought, the way his soul harbored both the dark and the light. Lance pierced the fabric with the blade. The air around them imploded with a whirlpool of sparking lights, like fairies dancing.
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